May 6, 2021

Womb

Throughout this time, I’ve found it easier and easier to think about God as my mother. Early on, when I could hardly hear God speak, Charlie prayed for me and received the prophetic image of me as a tiny point of righteous anger curled in on itself, as a baby kicking and screaming too hard and not staying still enough to feel loved, and of God around me: holding and enclosing me, and encouraging me to unravel so that I could feel her holding me, so that I could feel anything other than the white hot rage that I had curled in on.